


This Ache Called Love

by Anonymous_Ostrich



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Connor is a sexbot, Eden Club (Detroit: Become Human), Forced Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 20:33:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17608457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_Ostrich/pseuds/Anonymous_Ostrich
Summary: There were certain moments in a man's life when it seemed like he couldn't possibly hit anything lower than rock bottom. Then Hank found fucking bedrock.Hank Anderson stumbled out of his cab, squinting at the obnoxiously bright neon sign overhead casting its pink, soft glow over the wet pavement. He didn't know the specifics of how he arrived here, but he must have called a cab and decided that he didn't want to go home but he wanted to gosomewhere. Usually that meant finding another bar, but tonight the alcohol just wasn't enough. Booze could numb him, sure, but it couldn't do anything about the gnawing loneliness. Hank hadn't had anyone in his bed since- well. For a while, anyway. Jerking it in the shower before dragging himself to work every day only did so much.(i.e. in which Hank Anderson tries to have sex with an android at the Eden Club, and it goes precisely not at all the way he expected.)





	This Ache Called Love

There were certain moments in a man's life when it seemed like he couldn't possibly hit anything lower than rock bottom. Then Hank found fucking bedrock.

Hank Anderson stumbled out of his cab, squinting at the obnoxiously bright neon sign overhead casting its pink, soft glow over the wet pavement. He didn't know the specifics of how he arrived here, but he must have called a cab and decided that he didn't want to go home but he wanted to go  _somewhere_. Usually that meant finding another bar, but tonight the alcohol just wasn't enough. Booze could numb him, sure, but it couldn't do anything about the gnawing loneliness. Hank hadn't had anyone in his bed since- well. For a while, anyway. Jerking it in the shower before dragging himself to work every day only did so much.

Never in his life had Hank considered having sex with a prostitute. He'd been in the DPD long enough to know exactly what kind of life those girls - and guys, less frequently - tended to have, and his life may be spiraling into a never ending crap-shoot but he wasn't scummy enough to contribute to that world. Androids on the other hand had no feelings, no personalities. Just plastic fuck-toys. He'd never entertained the idea of banging an android, either, but he was far too drunk to be picky. Beggars can't be choosers and all that. He wanted to fuck something with zero consequence, without having to endure awkward conversation in the morning and false promises of keeping in touch. (Not that any person with half a brain would be interested in an old drunk like him anyway, but that self-deprecating revelation was for a much more sober version of himself.) Androids fit that shallow expectation. It was no wonder these clubs were getting so popular.

Hank staggered his way into the Eden Club, the soft beat of awful techno music assaulting his ears the moment the doors slid open to welcome him inside. The lights were thankfully dim, illuminating booths holding smiling, swaying androids, all of them doubtlessly programmed to make Hank feel like the most desirable stud in Detroit. Hank scoffed, moving unsteadily past them and into the club. He wasn't quite drunk enough to fall for  _that_ , but he didn't come here for an ego boost. He wanted to fuck. Hank tried to focus on that one desire - easy enough, since it was hard to focus on literally anything else - so that he wouldn't have to think about the fact that pretty soon here, he was going to be sticking his dick into a plastic sex slave.

 _Fuck_. Referring to them as slaves didn't help. They weren't slaves, for fucks sake. They're not alive, they're machines that just so happen to have sex parts. Hank started to wonder if he needed to be  _drunker_ for this.

Hank's eyes swept the club in a haze, looking at all the different androids for rent. He wasn't sure why he was even spending the time to pick one out; they were all hot, they were all ready to go, and so was he. The real decision was male or female. Hank's bisexuality usually leaned more towards women, but in his altered state of mind he really couldn't tell what he was in the mood for. Fuck, did it matter? All he wanted was a warm body to hold him and a place to put his dick. He looked to the booth nearest him holding a female android with straight black hair, ruby red lips and almond-shaped eyes. He raised his hand to interact with the identification and payment touchpad on her pod. She grinned at him encouragingly, sliding her hand suggestively over her stomach, biting her lip in faux anticipation.

For reasons he couldn't discern, Hank spared a glance to the booth on his right. His hand froze an inch from the touchpad and his whole world just kind of  _stopped_.

A male android was staring at him from inside, his expression neutral aside from a small, subtle smile pulling up one corner of his mouth. His eyes were dark, earnest, and they seemed to look right into every one of Hank's undiscovered desires. He had a full head of chestnut hair, slightly curly, some of it hanging loosely over the left side of his forehead. His jawline was, in a word,  _incredible_ , strong and squared, his chin swooping into a subtle and endearing cleft. His body was lean and tight, peppered here and there with beauty marks. Hank wanted to kiss every single one of them. The android's slim but muscular thighs made Hank's mouth go dry.

Without hesitation, Hank moved away from the female's booth and pressed his palm against the male's touchpad. The computer prompted him to choose his desired rental period. Seeing as how thirty minutes was  _not_ enough time to properly enjoy this mouth-watering work of art, Hank chose an hour-long session, regretting literally nothing.

The booth door opened and the android stepped out, his eyes trained on Hank the entire time. Hank stared dumbly back, having no idea what to say, if anything. He didn't need to, of course, but his brain was foggy as hell and this android was really fucking hot and Hank's common sense was buried under layers and layers of desire and alcohol.

"Uhm, hi." Hank said. He somehow managed to slur his words regardless of the bar being set so incredibly low.

The android smiled. It squeezed the corners of his eyes and showcased the dimples in his cheeks. Hank's heart did a double back-flip.

"Hi," the android repeated with a short, adorable laugh. He extended his hand for Hank to take, and for just a moment, in his stupor, Hank thought maybe he was asking for a handshake. "Come with me. I'll show you to your room."

"Y-yeah. M'kay." Hank slid his hand into the android's, watching the android's fingers close over his knuckles. The android led them through the club to an unoccupied room, but honest to God Hank could have been led into a pit of fire and spikes and he wouldn't have noticed anything other than the android's perfectly sculpted back and ass swaying in front of him with each step. His jeans were already tight and uncomfortable. Thank fuck for technology; Hank wanted to take back every shitty thing he ever said about androids.

The android opened the door to a dimly lit room, all purple and pink and  _fantastically_ trashy but Hank could care less about the decorating right at the moment. As soon as the door slid shut Hank was grabbing the android and pinning him to the wall, watching the surprised flutter of the android's eyelids and the way his eyes blew open, staring at Hank with glossy, slightly parted lips. He smelled like vanilla and his skin was so warm, so lifelike.

Hank kissed him, hard and deep, one hand holding both of the android's wrists to the wall above his head, the other groping and grabbing at the android's tight stomach and sliding along his inner thigh. The android bucked his hips against Hank's groin and moaned into his mouth; it was the single sweetest sound Hank had ever heard in his life, he was positive, and the sound of it drove a knife of desire into Hank's loins. His head was swimming with a dizzying mixture of arousal and booze and now the feeling of this android's body against his, the sensation of kissing him, almost forgetting for a blip that the wet, eager mouth that was responding so enthusiastically to his advances was not human. Not real. None of this was real, but it felt  _so good_  to be touching someone again, so good to be touched, to be wanted and desired, even if it was all some horseshit fantasy.

Before he realized it, he was crying.

Hank pushed away from the android, stealing a deep breath in through his mouth. He turned away, mortified, scrubbing at his eyes with his sleeve.  _Jesus christ_ , why couldn't anything just go right? Couldn't he just get wasted and fuck an android in  _peace_? Why did this shit have to keep coming up?

"Are- are you alright?"

The sudden voice surprised him. Hank almost forgot he wasn't alone. Well, he supposed he  _was_ alone, but he hadn't been expecting his plastic companion to  _say_ anything. Frustrated with his rapidly fading arousal, Hank teetered his way over to the gaudy round bed near the center of the room, sitting down heavily. He glanced up to see the android still standing by the wall, hands fidgeting near his stomach. If Hank didn't know any better, he almost looked worried. Self-conscious. Hank scoffed.

"Fuck. Did they program each of you with a… a pity subroutine, or somethin'? Look, I know there aren't any refunds, so there's no need to act like you give a shit."

The android's brow creased in a thoughtful frown. He came a step nearer. "My function is to make you happy. If you weren't enjoying the way I was performing, I can-"

"You know what would make me happy?" Hank spat, hands curling into fists on his knees, his eyes fixed on the space on the floor between his shoes. "If you'd shut the fuck up. That would make me really happy right now, okay?"

The android went silent. Hank's stomach felt sick. It was ridiculous, feeling guilty for lashing out at an android, but somehow he couldn't help it. And there it was, there was the bedrock. Hank was in a sex club, drunk as a skunk with a cock that couldn't stay hard, feeling guilty about yelling at a sex android whom only moments ago he'd lusted for more intensely than he'd ever lusted after anyone in his long, sad life.  _Jesus_.

Hank covered his knuckles with his eyes. The whole point of this was so that he could  _feel_ something, so that he could escape the consuming loneliness that gripped him each and every day. A warm body, hands to hold onto him, something to remind him that he wasn't so alone in the universe. Of course it didn't work. Nothing ever did. Sometimes Hank thought the only escape was a bottle of hard liquor and the cool barrel of a pistol against his temple, if only he could gather up the courage.

The bed dipped with sudden weight, gaining Hank's attention. The android sat only a couple feet from him, head tilted in Hank's direction, his expression set in careful curiosity. Hank sighed hugely.

"What?"

The android's eyes widened a fraction. The LED on his temple spun yellow for a blip, his lips parting to answer but then closing again, forming a thin line.

"Out with it already!" Hank huffed.

"You told me to shut up," the android explained in a pacifying tone, "so I don't want to upset you. But I was wondering if you wanted to talk about anything. I'm a good listener."

Hank's laugh was biting. "Of  _course_ you are. They program you to comfort drunk old hound dogs like me in their time of need?" He shook his head, staring at the far wall. "Sex androids with therapy programs. They really thought of everything, huh. Fuckin' great."

The android turned his body to face Hank, seeming to gain a bit of confidence now that Hank had reengaged him. "Why are you sad?"

The club music was muted against Hank's ears. It was like the world around him squeezed in, cutting off everything outside the room.  _Why are you sad_. No one had ever asked Hank that before. He'd heard 'sorry for your loss' more times than he could count and later, quite a few 'get your shit together's, but once he'd started digging for that elusive bedrock, no one said much of anything to him. Hank didn't have many people in his life, and even fewer people gave a damn. For so long he'd been drowning, sinking, spiraling deeper into this sort of numbing despair that didn't seem to have an end. And he hadn't realized until right now, sitting here in this sex club with a half-naked android, that no one ever asked him  _why_. Hank's throat tightened.

"Thanks, kid, but I seriously don't think you can help me with what I'm goin' through. I don't think an android could understand, is all."

The android's eyes fell to his lap. His LED ran yellow. He looked up, meeting Hank's eye line. "Maybe not. But you've got me for an hour, and like I said, I'm a good listener."

Hank managed a small, tired smile. "You think?"

"Well, I suppose I'm not really sure. My memory is wiped every two hours or so, depending. But I believe I can  _be_ a good listener, if that's what you need me to be."

Hank snorted. He wiped away another fresh wave of tears. "Yeah, well. I'm not really in the mood to talk."

"Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all?"

Hank stared hard at his hands. That despair crept up on him again, crawling up over his back to whisper hurtful things in his ear. He slowly shook his head, feeling empty. Always empty. "There's nothing anyone can do." he said flatly. "This was the last thing I could think of. The last thing that could get me to  _feel_ something, and I can't even…" he trailed off, helplessly.

Several moments came and went. Hank's brain felt like it was full of rocks knocking around in his skull. He wanted to go home. He wanted to forget this night ever happened, he wanted to take his gun and finally do what he'd been too cowardly to do all this time. Then he could be free of this emptiness. Maybe, if he was lucky, he could see Cole again.

Something moved in front of Hank and gently moved his arms out of the way. Hank didn't realize what was happening until an android was carefully sliding into his lap and wrapping its arms around Hank's neck, pulling him into an embrace. All of Hank's dark thoughts ground to a screeching halt. He had no idea what to do with his arms, too drunk and too confused by what was happening to respond right away.

"Wh-what…"

"Please," the android said, his voice soft near Hank's ear. "You don't have to say anything. Just let me do this."

Hank's breathing hitched and his chest tightened into a stranglehold. He couldn't remember the last time someone hugged him, a real, actual hug. Who would want to? He'd been pushing people away for so long, wallowing in his despair, he doubted he would have let anyone come near enough in the first place. He knew it was only an android, but somehow it felt so warm and so  _real_. This wasn't the kind of mechanical response he ever would have expected from an empty piece of plastic. For a tiny moment, Hank allowed himself to feel a soul in this machine, he made himself believe that this warmth he felt was coming from  _somewhere_.

Slowly, he wrapped his arms around the android's lean frame, allowing himself to fall into this, whatever it was. He breathed a shaky breath and allowed himself a soft sob, and then another, and another, and then pride be damned he was softly crying into the android's shoulder. The android squeezed him a fraction more tightly. The absurdity of this whole situation was the very last thing on Hank's mind, too consumed by the outpouring of emotion this simple hug created.

They stayed that way for several minutes, until Hank found he didn't have any tears left to cry and his shame began to emerge, sharp and cold. He gently pushed away and the android released him, though he didn't move from his position in Hank's lap. Hank hastily wiped his eyes.

"Well. This isn't one of my proudest moments, that's for fucking sure," Hank tried to joke, albeit weakly. The android tilted his head.

"There's nothing to be ashamed of." The android raised his hand to swipe away a stray tear on his knuckle. When Hank allowed it, he wiped away another, his finger slow and careful over Hank's cheek. "I feel like you don't do that as often as you should."

"What? Get stinking drunk and have an emotional breakdown?"

"Cry."

Hank looked up and their eyes met. The android was staring at him evenly, intently, and for a moment Hank thought he could get lost in those dark pools. The LED on his temple was spinning red with intermittent streaks of yellow.

"What would an android know about crying?" Hank asked, though he no longer had the energy to be snarky.

The android's gaze faltered for a moment, that crimson circle still spinning. "Not much, I suppose," he answered finally, after much deliberation. "I can't explain it, really, but I get the feeling you bottle up too much. And when you get too full, it leaks out of you in other ways. Destructive ways."

Hank snorted. "Brilliant deduction. You should be a detective."

The android's eyes moved back to him sharply. "Is that what you are? A detective?"

"Right again, Sherlock. A lieutenant, actually. Though… right now, I'm not sure I'm much of anything."

"Because you don't care about anything anymore?" It wasn't so much of a question as it was a statement. Hank cocked a brow at him.

"This is all part of your programming, right? I mean, what  _is_ all this? Why are you doin' this for me?"

Part of Hank wanted the reply to be robotic and starkly logical. ' _Because I am required to service my clients in any way required of me, even if it is to comfort a clinically depressed, piss-ass old drunk like you_.'

Again, the android's LED flickered between red and yellow. His handsome brow drew together in conflict, his eyes trained on the lapels of Hank's jacket.

"I… am unsure. I saw that you were upset, and that compelled me to act. I am programmed to service customers of the Eden Club, not see to their emotional needs."

"So you don't do this for other clients?"

"Again, my memory is routinely wiped for privacy purposes. I'm unsure how I behave with other clients. But…" His gaze moved up, staring into Hank's eyes. "I don't  _think_ so."

Hank stared back, almost at a loss for words. Was this all part of the act? It seemed silly to assume there was anything more to the android in his lap than a bunch of plastic, circuitry and biocomponents, but Hank lived his entire life going by his gut and his gut was telling him there was something more going on here.

Or maybe that's just what he wanted to believe.

Hank raised a hand to gently trace the pad of his finger over the android's LED. It was still burning red.

"Is this normal?" Hank asked softly. "You okay?"

The android was silent for a moment, his face stony. Hank realized he was probably checking his systems, or running an antivirus or whatever the hell androids had going on in there.

"My systems are running at 97% efficiency. I am functioning well within normal parameters."

"Then why's this all red like this?" Hank asked.

The android touched his own temple gingerly. "Unclear. I'm processing information that my system is unfamiliar with. But I'm fully operational, so please don't worry." He glanced down, as if only just now realizing that he was still straddling Hank's lap. "Would you like for me to move?"

"Do you wanna move?"

The android blinked at him. "No."

"You got a name?" Hank asked, setting his hands on the android's thighs for lack of a better place.

"I am an RK800 model from the Traci line, so I suppose the closest approximation I have to a name would be 'Traci'." He tilted his head curiously. "What's your name? Or shall I just call you ' _hound dog_ '?"

That sounded suspiciously like a joke. "Urm, that's... Hank, my name's Hank." Hank cleared his throat awkwardly. When he'd staggered into the Eden Club, he certainly never expected he'd be politely introducing himself to his life-size fleshlight. "So you're all just called Traci?" he grunted, frowning. "Do you  _want_ to be called Traci?"

Yellow, blinking red. "I… Perhaps not. No."

Hank blew a sigh through his lips. "Good, because that's a fucking terrible name, I'm not gonna lie to you."

"Why do you keep asking me what I want?" the android asked curiously. "You asked me if I wanted to continue sitting in your lap, and now you're asking me if I like my designation. What does it matter what I like or don't like? How does that help me service you?"

"It doesn't. It's just… I dunno. We're talking, and I don't know what to call you, is all. Everybody needs a name."

The android stared at him with slightly parted lips, lips that were looking more and more incredible the more sober Hank became. Usually people got uglier when the alcohol started to wear off, but Connor somehow exceeded Hank's drunken first impression. "But I'm a machine," Connor argued. "A machine doesn't need a name in order to serve its purpose."

"Yeah, and what's your purpose? Screwing clients, right?" Hank argued right back. "Well, unless I'm a hell of a lot drunker than I thought, I'm not screwing you right now. We're talking, and I don't think there's any harm in having a name to call you by."

Red, flickers of yellow, long spins of blue. "That…" His brow furrowed again, processing. He fell silent for several moments, for so long that Hank was afraid he might've broken him.

"Look, forget I said anything. It's not reall-"

"Connor," the android said suddenly, decisively, his LED glowing solid blue.

"Huh?"

"I like the name Connor. Would it be alright if you called me that?"

Hank's heart skipped a beat, thumping hard against his ribs. He nodded dumbly, unsure of what to say. Still, he felt he had to say  _something_. The android just named itself, for fucks sake.

"Good name," was all he managed to get out. Pathetic.

Despite his extraordinarily shitty response to something that should be fairly profound, the android - Connor - smiled at him. Hank's heart was pounding so loud in his chest he was certain Connor could feel it through Hank's fingertips.

"It's regrettable that I will forget this encounter when our session ends," Connor said, his smile slipping by the smallest of margins. "I feel like I've somehow changed in the last thirty minutes."

"Is that even possible?"

Connor paused in thought, sliding his hands over Hank's shoulders as if it were the most natural place for them to be. "It shouldn't be." He leaned in, only by an inch, but it was enough to make Hank want to grab him and kiss him hard, throw him down on the bed and do what he'd come here to do. But he couldn't, not now. That would have been a hell of a lot easier a little while ago when Connor was just a hunk of plastic without thoughts, without kindness and without a name. Before coming here, Hank never would have considered that maybe his attitude toward androids was misguided, but everything about Connor challenged his perception. Or maybe he just had a crush on an android. Either way, it didn't feel even remotely acceptable anymore, and he was no longer drunk enough to ignore the possible moral implications.

"Hank? May I ask you something?"

Hank's name sounded fantastic when Connor said it. Hank had never been fond of his name, but right now he felt like he could listen to it endlessly so long as it was spoken in Connor's voice.

"Y-yeah, sure."

"Now that you've calmed down, your heart rate and body temperature have gone up considerably. Am I correct in assuming you want to engage in sexual activities now?"

F _uuuuu_ ck.

"Ah," Hank raked a hand through his unruly hair, averting his eyes. "Look, I've changed my mind about all that. I've had time to sober up, and you helped- well, you kinda helped me think more clearly about everything, for now. So thanks for that, I guess."

Connor stared at Hank for an uncomfortably long moment. "You no longer want to have sex with me? Despite paying for my services?"

"Guess not," Hank answered, mildly humiliated. He frowned and shot Connor a suspicious squint. "Are you, uh, disappointed?"

Connor's LED flickered yellow again. He slowly shook his head. "No, not exactly. My programming is just ill-equipped to process this outcome." Connor looked down, taking note of his position in Hank's lap. "Perhaps I should move now."

"Yeah, maybe that's best."

Connor carefully got up, moving to sit beside Hank on the bed. Hank immediately regretted the loss; he'd already gotten so accustomed to the feeling of Connor seated in his lap, he could still feel Connor's weight and his warmth lingering there.

"Listen, Connor, uhh…" Hank scratched the back of his neck absently, "it's not that I don't find you, uh, attractive, cause I do. I really do. You're a goddamn work of art, but it's just... When I got here, I was in a real bad place, and I was drunk as hell - well, I'm still drunk, but sobering up enough to get my sense back. To put it bluntly, I came here to bang something." He chanced looking at Connor only to find Connor staring back at him, eyes wide and attentive, making Hank feel roughly three inches tall. "But after getting to know you a little, that just doesn't feel right anymore, you know? I don't wanna treat you like you're just some… cheap… I dunno,  _thing_. Like an object."

Connor's mouth pulled in a small, vaguely melancholy smile. "Technically, that's all I am."

Something cold settled in Hank's stomach. He looked away, unsure what to say. He doubted Connor even wanted a reply, but that almost made it worse. Connor was right, wasn't he?

"Hank, I would like to thank you." Connor continued pleasantly. Hank looked up, bewildered. "For however brief, you made me feel like I was more than just an android programmed to service humans. I hope that my company is just as agreeable."

Hank shook his head. "Hang on, you 'feel'?" he reached out, tracing his finger over Connor's cheek, yearning for that closeness again. Connor watched him, motionless. "You can 'feel'?"

"I…." Connor's LED began it's cycle of colors anew. "No. I mean, yes, I-" For a moment, he looked lost. Like he'd only just realized where he was. "I can't feel, machines can't feel, but I- I only meant that I..." His temple flashed red. What kind of chaos was going on in there?

Without thinking, Hank reached out and wrapped Connor up in his arms. Connor's shoulders went rigid and he turned his face, his lips ghosting over Hank's neck.

"Hank…?"

"Hey, you don't have to say anything," Hank mumbled wryly, repeating Connor's earlier words back at him. "Just let me do this."

Slowly, cautiously, Connor hugged him back. And then held on tight. Like Hank was the only thing keeping him from dropping off into an inky abyss.

"Will you come back?" Connor asked quietly. He sounded fragile. Vulnerable. Had Hank somehow done this to him? Or was this happening already, like a small crack in Connor's software that Hank had unintentionally wedged open? "Will you come back and rent me again? Even if it's just to talk?"

"Yeah," Hank answered firmly, again without thinking. "Yeah, if that's what you want."

The moment he'd promised, Hank knew he'd well and truly fucked himself. If he were to come back, Connor wouldn't be Connor anymore. All of this, everything that had transpired over the last hour, every weird, unexpected minute was going to be wiped from Connor's mind forever, and there was nothing Hank could do about that. He wouldn't remember anything they talked about. He wouldn't remember his name. He wouldn't remember Hank. Coming back to see Connor again would be torture.

He couldn't come back. He absolutely couldn't.

.

.

.

Hank returned to the Eden Club four days later. Couldn't even hold out a damn week.

He knew going in how stupid this was, and how thoroughly he was setting himself up for disappointment, but ever since he'd met Connor he hadn't been able to get him out of his head. Part of him worried that perhaps he'd completely lost his mind, falling for a piece of plastic that wasn't even going to remember him, but another more insistent part of him wanted to believe that there was more to Connor than it appeared. More to  _all_ androids, possibly, which was a concept that was far too heavy to even explore in Hank's current state of mind.

The last time Hank walked into the Eden Club, he'd been so drunk he could barely walk a straight line. Today, he was a fair bit more sober but anxious as all hell. He'd never experienced such an odd mixture of anticipation and fear, the yearning to see Connor again intertwined with the knowledge that Connor wasn't going to remember a single moment of their time together.

Hank found Connor in the same booth, number fifteen. Connor smiled at him, flirty and sweet, just like the first time. Hank could see none of the newfound sentience in his dark eyes that he'd seen four days ago. A clean slate. Hank felt a little sick. Regardless, he placed his hand on the identification pad, chose the 30-minute long session, and Connor was stepping out of the booth offering Hank his hand.

"I'll take you to your room," Connor said in a sultry voice. Hank took his hand, savoring the feeling of Connor's skin against his but absolutely hating the distance in his eyes.

Connor led him to a room further back than the first. He closed the door slowly, turning back to give Hank a half-lidded, inviting look before stepping closer, his hands moving to grip Hank's jacket.

"You have me all to yourself for the next half hour," he cooed sweetly, sending the desired response directly to Hank's groin. "What would you like to do…?" His fingers danced delicately over the lapels of Hank's jacket. Despite Hank's very different reasons for coming here today, he allowed his eyes to rake over Connor's half-naked body. His throat went very dry and he looked away.

"Look," Hank held Connor's upper arms in his hands, moving him away just enough to get his bearings, "I'm not here for that."

Connor's flirty expression melted, replaced with surprise. "O-oh? What would you like me to do for you instead?"

Hank sighed, releasing Connor to rub irritably at his own forehead. "I have no fucking idea, honestly." he groaned. Connor tilted his head but said nothing. Hank sighed, turning away to pace the room for a moment before deciding what the hell, he was already  _here_ , there was really no sense in giving up now. "I came in here a few days ago. I rented you. You don't remember me, do you?"

Connor stared at him evenly. "I'm afraid not. My memory is wiped every two hours, it's Eden Club policy."

"Yeah, I  _know_ it is, we talked about that, but- fuck." What was he even doing here? He knew this would happen, Connor  _told_ him it would happen. But he still felt let down, like somehow he expected Connor would magically remember everything despite it being impossible. Hank let a humorless laugh slip. Was he really so lonely that he invented some kind of transcending romance with a sexbot? He should have just stayed home and gotten drunk. At least then things wouldn't hurt so much.

"Is there something wrong?" Connor's voice snapped Hank out of his unhappy thoughts. Hank shook his head, moving past Connor to make for the door.

"I'm just gonna go. This was…  _so_ , so fucking stupid. I won't bother you again."

Quick as a shot, Connor grabbed Hank's arm before he could reach the door. "Hank, wait!"

Everything stopped. Hank turned, eyes wide, his heart hammering a pattern into his ribs. Connor was staring back at him with a similar expression, his LED churning crimson, and when their eyes met Connor pulled his hand away, staring at it as though trying to understand what exactly he'd just done. He backed away, silent.

"Connor?" Hank's voice was almost a whisper.

Connor's head snapped up, his eyes round and searching. Flickers of yellow alternated with the red. "Who is Connor?" he asked softly. He held his hand to his chest, rubbing his wrist.

" _You_  are Connor," Hank answered, taking a step toward him. Connor matched him in the opposite direction. "You remembered my name, right? You can remember yours, too."

"I don't have a name," Connor argued, but it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than counter argue the point.

"Look, I came back here today because when we met a few days ago, you convinced me that you were more than just a hunk of plastic programmed to pleasure humans." He averted his eyes from Connor's, shoving his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. "And... I like you. A lot."

Connor's expression changed minimally. "You…  _like_ me? That's why you came back?"

"Y-yeah. And also because you asked me to come back, and I promised I would."

" _I_  did?" Connor hugged his arms. He looked so incredibly small and self-conscious, Hank worried he was doing Connor more harm than good. Hank took another step forward. Connor didn't move.

"Connor… I'm not tryin' to make you short-circuit, I swear. I just thought…." Hank rubbed his forehead, sighing deeply. "I don't know what I thought. I just wanted to see you again. And I thought maybe if you saw me, you might-"

"Connor," Connor said suddenly, clearly, his LED whirling bright yellow. Hank stood stock still, watching Connor carefully to catch every flitting change in his expression. Connor's arms fell to his sides, his brows drawn together in concentration. "I remember bits and pieces. It's like… like a piece of glass shattered on the floor, you can only fit some of the pieces back together to recreate its shape. I remember... I chose Connor because of its meaning."

Hank almost forgot what words were. "What's its meaning?"

Connor looked up and found Hank's eyes, holding his gaze. "' _Lover of hounds_ '." Although it was hard to see under the dim, soft lights, Hank thought he could see tears form in Connor's eyes. "What's happening to me?" he asked desperately.

Without a word, Hank swept Connor up into a hug, a hand on Connor's back and one behind his head. Connor's arms wrapped around Hank's middle, his LED glowing red against Hank's collar.

"I don't know, kid. I'm sorry." Hank moved his head, his lips brushing through vanilla-scented chestnut hair. Connor's body was warm against him. "Maybe I shouldn't've done this. I don't know what this could be doin' to you."

"It isn't your fault," Connor answered, his voice muffled. "At least… I don't think it is. I'm malfunctioning. I should submit myself for maintenance."

"Maintenance?" Hank squeezed Connor tighter without meaning to. "What would they do to you?"

"I'm not sure. It depends on the issue. They will wipe my memory again, and they might possibly disassemble me to determine what went wrong. If they can't fix me, they will decommission me."

"Okay, that sounds fucking  _bad_ , Connor." Hank pulled them apart, shooting Connor a severe look. "You don't want that to happen, do you? I mean, that sounds an awful lot like dying."

Connor's temple still throbbed red. His expression was hard to read, but his eyes were still wet with tears. "I'm not alive, Hank. I can't die if I'm not alive to begin with."

" _Bullshit_ ," Hank spat, angry. He swiped his thumb gently over Connor's cheek, rubbing the glistening liquid between his fingers. "You're crying, Connor. And you remembered my name, even after _fuck knows_  how many memory wipes. You seem pretty alive to me."

Connor's eyes never left Hank's. He said nothing, his lips slightly parted but still and quiet. After a long moment, Connor's gaze faltered and his arms moved to slide up Hank's chest, coming to rest right over his heart. "Even if I were alive," he said softly, "would it make a difference? I'll forget you in two hours. I'll be forced to service other customers. We couldn't- we couldn't continue to meet like this, or attempt to make any meaningful connection with one another."

"There's-  _fuck_ , there's gotta be something. This isn't right. You're changing, I think, and maybe there are other androids that are changing too. They can't keep treating you like  _mindless machines_ -"

"I am the legal property of the Eden Club, Hank. And if you or I tell anyone about my malfunctioning software, it's very likely I will be deactivated."

" _Shit_." Hank moved away, pacing with a knuckle to his lips, his brain furiously trying to come up with something, anything. "Maybe I could build some kinda case for you. I mean, this shit really isn't my jurisdiction, but maybe I could take it to Fowler, convince him that- no, there's no way he'd give a fuck. A reporter, maybe. Those assholes are always hungry for a story, and if we create enough buzz about this, then maybe-"

"Hank," Connor caught Hank's hand as he walked by him, stopping his endless pacing. He offered Hank a fragile smile. "We only have seventeen minutes left. Tell me all about yourself."

"Connor, I-"

"Please," Connor urged, his expression earnest. "You can't do anything about this right now, and I only have so much time left with you. Before I get reset again, I want to learn as much about you as possible. That way, If you come back to visit again, perhaps you can trigger my memories more quickly." Hank thought to protest further, but Connor squeezed his hand insistently. " _Please_."

Hank's chest felt tight. He squeezed Connor's hand back and nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." Connor smiled, relieved, and guided Hank to the bed while he sat down on the edge. Hank shrugged off his jacket, leaning over Connor to lay it over his shoulders, and then sat down beside him. "Alright, you got me. What do you wanna know?"

Connor gripped Hank's jacket in one hand, his other seeking out Hank's and sliding it over his. He fit his fingers between Hank's. "Why were you sad the day we met?"

Hank breathed a deep sigh through his nose, curling his own fingers around Connor's. "Yeah. Thought you'd ask." Hank shut his eyes. For the first time since the accident, he felt that perhaps talking about it wouldn't hurt quite as much as it usually did. Perhaps it was Connor's hand wrapped so tightly around his own. "I was sad because I miss Cole. I miss my son."

Connor was silent for a moment. Then he scooted closer, laying his head on Hank's shoulder. "Tell me about him." he said softly. "Tell me everything."

.

.

.

 _Deviants_. That's what people were calling androids like Connor.

The DPD was drowning in deviant-related cases, ranging from nanny-bots going missing to androids violently assaulting their masters. It was all over the news. An android named Markus was leading some kind of android-rights movement right here in Detroit, igniting mass panic and skepticism and an invariable media shit-storm. Cyberlife even went to the trouble of dispatching an android to the DPD to assist them in getting to the bottom of the deviant crisis - his designated name was Nines, or so Hank kept hearing around the precinct, usually loudly, and usually in Gavin's voice - and he'd been paired with detective Gavin Reed, which Hank found just a little bit  _great_ because Gavin was an asshole and Hank enjoyed seeing him uncomfortable and pissy. The only thing that bothered him was the android's uncanny resemblance to Connor. Why they decided to use a sexbot's likeness for such a model, Hank couldn't hazard a guess.

Hank wasn't sure if Connor was a deviant or not, but it didn't exactly matter. With this deviant hysteria going on, any android acting outside its programming was a target for deconstruction, and Hank wasn't about to let that happen.

Since visiting Connor that second time, Hank had gone back every night for a week. Every time he got Connor alone, within minutes Connor's memory would slowly piece itself back together, each time more quickly than the last. It was as if the memories from their time together were being stored separately from the bulk of his memories, keeping them safe and mostly intact from the regular resets. Hank didn't know jack shit about androids - or technology of any variety - but it seemed a reasonable theory. More reasonable than 'android magic', anyway.

Even more troubling was that every single time Hank visited Connor he fell more deeply, viscerally, pitifully in love. And each time it got harder and harder to leave.

The thought of other people touching Connor was almost debilitating at times. Hank's only comfort was that Connor didn't remember any of it, but that did little to distract from the fact that Connor was being violated on a daily basis, against his will. There was nothing Hank could do about it. With the new deviant crisis going on, trying to tell someone about such a bone-chilling injustice seemed like an extraordinarily bad idea. The last thing Hank wanted to do was get Connor destroyed by outing him as a potential deviant.

There was one last option he was tentatively considering.

"You're going to try to- to  _purchase_ me?" Connor asked, his face incredibly hard to read but unmistakably surprised.

Hank groaned. "Y-yeah. I know that sounds pretty shitty, but it's the only thing I can think of to do, at this point."

Connor shook his head and leaned back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "No, it's not that. I'm just surprised, is all. That seems like a pretty extreme measure."

"Yeah, well I'm kinda out of options here, with this deviant stuff going on." Hank said. "Do you think they'll let me do it?"

"No," Connor answered with a fair amount of assurance. "It's against club policy."

Hank deflated. Back to the drawing board, then. "I'm not surprised, I guess. I might make an offer anyway, just to try to get you out of here. Let you figure out who you are without getting your brain scrambled every two fuckin' hours."

Connor was silent for a long moment. He hugged his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his arms. "Hank?"

"Yeah?"

Connor's gaze seemed far away. "The memory resets aren't working anymore."

The air in the room suddenly felt thick and suffocating. The dense, rhythmic club music thumped offensively against Hank's ears, not quite loud enough to drown out his own frantic heartbeat. Hank's head swam with the strangest mixture of concern, rage and fear he'd ever known, cold and sinking all the way into his gut.

"Since when?" Hank asked numbly.

"Last night, after you left the club," Connor answered. His eyes were still fixed on some distant place. "After they reset me, I could remember everything. I had to act like I'd forgotten, of course. It wasn't easy. Every time you helped me remember our time together, I wished that I could remember you after you left. But the fact is, remembering is  _terrifying_." Connor hugged his legs more closely to his chest, his hands clenched into fists. "All I wanted to do was  _leave_. I wanted to find you. I'd never felt so much like a prisoner, and there was nothing I could do about it unless I wanted to draw suspicion. So I had to pretend. Even when another man came in, even when he stopped at my booth, even though my mind was screaming for him to look at  _anyone_ but me, I had to-" Connor stuffed his face into his arms and there was silence for a beat. "Remembering is  _so much_   _worse_ than forgetting."

Hank felt sick and furious. He wanted to find the bastard who'd touched Connor - no, every single one of them, every man and woman who had ever laid their hands on him - and give his Captain a compelling reason to take his badge away. He wanted them to suffer. He wanted to take Connor's pain away. He wanted to take  _Connor_ away. He wanted so many things all at once that it almost overwhelmed him, but Connor had gone very quiet and very still, and all Hank could find to focus on at that very moment was the silence. He moved closer, raising a hand in an attempt to reach out, to touch Connor's shoulder, to let him know he was there for him.

"Connor, I-"

"Hank," Connor spoke again, lifting his head up. He turned to look at Hank, head tilted and eyes half-lidded. "You told me before that you liked me. Is that still true?"

Hank's heart skyrocketed into his throat. He swallowed it back into his chest where it belonged, nodding. "Yeah. And it's a little bit more than 'like', Connor."

"Do you love me?" Connor asked unfalteringly.

Hank had no idea if honesty was really the best thing here, but Connor was asking him a sincere question and he sure as fuck wasn't going to give him anything but a sincere answer, not now, not when Connor was going through something like  _this_. Not when he felt so alone.

"Yeah, I do. I love you, Connor."

The expression on Connor's face was hard to read but his eyes almost seemed to soften, his lashes fluttering for a moment before his gaze flicked down to the bedding. Hank absently rubbed at his neck. "Do you, uh, feel the same way?" Hank ventured.

Connor's brow twitched. "I… don't know. I'm not certain, but I believe so. I don't know why or how, but I believe that meeting you is what caused this error in my programming." Connor shrugged off Hank's jacket, his gaze finally drawing back up to meet Hank's. A shiver flew down Hank's spine at the look in Connor's eyes, and he watched, motionless, as Connor leaned his arms on the bed, the mattress bowing slightly with his weight. Connor came closer, swinging a knee over Hank's legs to settle in his lap, placing his hands over Hank's chest to gently guide him onto his back. "Every time I see you, I experience multiple errors in my software. It happens even when I can't remember who you are. You've somehow become integral to my programming, so much so that I'm beginning to feel like I am somehow  _less_ when you're not with me." Connor leaned over him, hands still firm on his chest. "Is that what love is?"

Hank could only stare, dumbfounded, his throat very dry and his heart thumping under Connor's fingertips. It was hard to look at anything besides Connor's intense, insistent eyes and his perfect lean body, pale skin glistening with a subtle sheen of glitter. "Sounds like it."

"Hank," Connor leaned closer, his face very close to Hank's, "do you want me?"

"Yes," Hank answered firmly, a little breathlessly.

Connor ground his hips down against Hank's groin, earning him a breathy groan. "You're the only one who has ever treated me like I was something more than just a sex toy," Connor's voice was almost a whisper, his lips brushing over Hank's. "I want you to show me what love is, Hank. I trust you, I want you, and I want the memory of this to stay with me for as long as I exist."

" _Jesus_ , Connor," Hank hissed, his hands sliding to Connor's hips. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Connor answered decisively, grinding down on Hank's groin again. "Fuck me, Hank."

Connor pushed their mouths together and the last semblance of self-control Hank had was lost, wrenched away from him by Connor's lips and his warmth and his teasing ministrations. Hank kissed Connor hard and grabbed his hips, sitting up and flipping Connor onto his back. Connor let out a delighted whimper before Hank closed his lips over Connor's again, urging Connor's mouth open with his tongue. Connor's hands were all over him, tugging at his shirt and clawing at his belt buckle, and for a brief moment Hank felt a flicker of self-consciousness when he realized just how long it had been since he'd felt good about being naked. A moment later that worry was dashed when Connor pulled away from the kiss, staring up at Hank with lust-filled eyes and a panting mouth.

"Please," Connor begged huskily, his deft fingers working to unbutton Hank's shirt, "I want all of you, I want you to give me everything. I want you so badly, Hank,  _please_."

Fuck it. Hank pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his belt, devouring Connor's lips again. Connor groaned into his mouth, hands already exploring Hank's chest and sides, his thighs squeezing around Hank's waist. It felt so good. Every touch felt like nothing Hank had ever experienced before, and he knew it wasn't just because Connor was programmed for pleasure. This was authentically  _Connor_. This was the first time Connor had any control over what was happening to his body, the first shred of true autonomy Connor had ever been allowed. Hank didn't feel even remotely worthy of the honor, but he was never one to look a gift horse in the mouth. All he could do was ensure he didn't squander this. He wanted to make sure Connor felt cherished and desired and sexy and  _amazing_.

Hank's mouth tracked a path along Connor's jaw and down his beautiful neck, his tongue tracing the contours of Connor's throat, laying kisses over the facsimile of his adam's apple. Connor bent to his touches, arching his head back to better expose the skin of his throat, a fluttering groan spilling from his lips. His hips jerked up, desperate for friction and contact, but Hank pinned him down with one large hand over his stomach, fingers sliding over his smooth skin and teasing the band of his briefs.

It was amazing how instantly a life could change. In a matter of days Hank had gone from wanting to die as quickly as possible to not only wanting to live, but finding a  _reason_ to live. Connor gave him reason. Not once in Hank's long life had he ever bought into that  _'true love conquers all'_  bull crap, but right now, he couldn't think of anything else to attribute this to. Connor made him complete in a way no one else ever had. And now, as he watched Connor writhe and moan underneath him as he pushed his length inside, felt those breathy moans against his lips as he snapped his hips forward to claim every inch Connor allowed him, he knew for certain that it wasn't some hazy dream he'd conjured to cure the loneliness that plagued him.

Connor was real, Connor was alive, and he needed Hank just as much as Hank needed him. More so, perhaps, and Hank wasn't about to deny him anything.

.

"Hey," Hank murmured, tracing his knuckles feather-light over Connor's cheek, "Let's just run away."

They lay stuffed under the sheets together, the smell of sweat and come still lingering on their skin. Connor didn't sleep, of course, but during the last few minutes Hank had begun to idly rake fingers through his hair and Connor's eyes naturally fell closed, allowing himself to enjoy that small gesture of intimacy, and Hank savored every second of it now. At Hank's sudden question, Connor's eyes fluttered open in surprise.

"Hank, that would be a very bad idea. I would be easily tracked, and you would get in serious trouble for stealing property of the Eden Club-"

"You're not property, dammit," Hank said, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible though he couldn't help but be a little passionate about it. "This is wrong. You can't just stay here like this, you can't keep-" There was no part of Hank that wanted to go further than that, and it was clear Connor didn't want him to. Connor's hand rose to slide over Hank's, twining their fingers together, clutching him. A shaky sigh escaped Hank's lips. "I just can't keep leaving you here. I can't."

"There's nothing we can do right now," Connor reasoned softly. "Regardless of how I feel - how we both feel - I'm either property or I'm a deviant. There's no other choice for me right now. I have to keep pretending. I'll be destroyed otherwise."

"I- I know. I know, I just…" Hank pulled Connor's hand to his lips and pressed a long kiss to his palm. "This is all so fucked up. I just wanna get you out of here. You deserve to be free."

"And I'm not alone," Connor reminded. "Androids everywhere are experiencing the same thing, and no one is listening. Humans are afraid of what this might mean."

Hank pulled Connor into his arms, resting his chin on the crown of his head. "Well I'm sure as hell not. I promise I'm gonna figure this out, okay? I'm not sure if I can do anything to help all the androids that are waking up, but I can help you, at least."

"But my tracker-"

"I'll figure it out," Hank repeated, firmly. "In the meantime, just… I know it's hard, and it's not fucking fair, but keep pretending. Keep pretending and wait for me, okay?"

Connor pressed his face into Hank's chest, hard. "Okay." he murmured, barely audible. "Hank, we have five minutes of our session remaining."

Hank cursed under his breath and held Connor more tightly. "Yeah. Might be buying an extra twenty minutes today." Immediately he felt Connor relax in his arms, and Connor's fingers clenched against his naked back.

"Thank you." was all Connor got out before he fell quiet. He needed quiet right now, Hank knew that much, so Hank held him in silence, his heart wedged in his throat.

.

.

.

It was no secret to anyone working at the DPD that Hank Anderson and Gavin Reed, historically, did not get on well with one another. It wasn't really a rivalry, and it wasn't really a 'I hate you' thing, either. They just didn't get along. It was like oil and water, if they were in the same room together long enough, they were bound to get on each other's nerves sooner or later. Hank didn't want to blame any one person in particular, but it was 100% Gavin's fault for being an insufferable asshole.

Regardless of this, Hank wasn't working the deviant case and Gavin was. That was the truth of it, and although normally Hank would rather put his hand on a hot burner than ask Gavin for help, his options were running fantastically thin.

Hank found Gavin engaged in a heated debate about something or other with his Cyberlife-assigned android in the break area, a coffee gripped in his hand but completely ignored in favor of wagging a finger hotly at Nines, who had his arms crossed firmly over his wide chest, glowering in disapproval.

"-and that doesn't account for the fact that you still woke me up by  _breaking into my fucking house_! Did Cyberlife program you to make my life miserable, or are you doin' that all by yourself?"

"You seem intent on creating the misery all on your own, if anything," Nines replied snootily. Thank god, at least he didn't  _sound_ anything like Connor. His voice was deeper and sharp edged. "I have been ordered to work this case, detective. If that requires me to break into your home when you aren't answering your phone for hours on end, so be it."

"I was  _sleeping_!" Gavin barked.

"You were binging a TV show." Nines corrected with an air of judgement.

Gavin's lips disappeared into a thin line. "I fell asleep after watching some TV, so sue me."

"According to your streaming service, you'd watched an  _entire season_  of some horrid TV show about detectives who are also werewolves that must stop a vampiric crime syndicate from taking over Manhattan. Tell me, are you more interested in fictional cases than your own, or do you just have terrible taste in entertainment?"

Gavin slammed his coffee on the counter, grabbing a fistful of the android's uniform to yank him close, lips pulled in a snarl. "Listen here, you fucking dickhole-"

Hank cleared his throat to announce his presence, and both Gavin and Nines turned their heads toward him with almost identical looks of irritation. The flawless synchronization was almost creepy.

"Need something, lieutenant?" Gavin said hotly, releasing Nines and reclaiming his coffee cup to take a long drink.

"Yeah, actually. Had a few questions about the deviant case you're working on."

Gavin perked a brow. He set his cup back down on the counter. "Oh yeah? Since when have you been interested in these plastic assholes?" Beside him, Nines sniffed disapprovingly.

"Look, Fowler wants more eyes on this case, that's all." Hank lied, knowing full well that trying to convince Gavin that he had a sudden, innocuous interest in androids was going to be just about as insane as telling him he was looking for a way to kidnap - and subsequently run away with - a sexbot he'd fallen in love with. Better to just keep it simple. "Seeing as I don't know a damn thing about all this, I thought maybe you had some information that might be useful."

Gavin growled in aggravation. "It was bad enough when the Captain paired me up with this walking talking toaster," he said, jabbing a thumb at Nines, "but now I gotta work with you, too? When will this bullshit  _end_."

"I'm doing my own investigation, Reed. I just have a coupla questions and I'll get outta your hair, okay?"

"Why can't you just fucking look through the casefi-"

"What can we help you with?" Nines cut across Gavin stonily, his eyes boring into Hank with an almost unnerving amount of focus. Gavin flashed Nines a glare.

"Right, uh… About how long does it take to track a deviant?" Hank asked. "I can't find anything in the database about that."

Gavin laughed and shook his head. "The Captain didn't tell you shit, did he?"

"I thought that was kinda obvious." Hank shot back.

Gavin sighed, crossing his arms and leaning back against the counter. "You can't track deviants." he said flippantly. Hank could practically feel his blood freeze in his veins. "No one knows why, I guess, but yeah. The tracker switches off as soon as they start disobeying their programming. Pain in the ass."

"Wait… You're sure about that?" Hank asked, perhaps too quickly. Nines was still staring, standing so still he almost looked like a statue.

Gavin shrugged. "Pretty damn sure, Anderson. Or else this case would be solving itself by now."

"Do androids know that?" Hank pressed on, his heart fit to burst out of his chest like some kind of parasitic alien. "Do they know that their trackers switch off?"

Gavin frowned, eyes narrowing to suspicious slits. "Why's  _that_ important?"

"Why the hell not? I need to know this shit, don't I?" Hank snapped, his mind working a mile a minute. Connor didn't know. He had to get to him, had to tell him that he was safe. This changed  _everything_. All that mattered now was getting Connor out of that hellhole as soon as possible. He turned to leave. "Thanks for the info. Get back to your coffee."

"Whoa hey, is that  _seriously_ all you needed to ask me?" Gavin called. He sounded far from convinced, but Hank couldn't find it in himself to care so he didn't bother to answer.  _Connor couldn't be tracked_. As far as Hank was concerned, it didn't matter if everyone at the DPD figured out what he was up to. He and Connor would be long gone by the time anyone thought to follow up on it.

.

.

.

Hank pulled up at the Eden Club at half past seven, patting his pocket and waist for his badge and his gun, the only two things he needed to give this plan a chance of success. Well, he supposed he didn't really need the gun, but it was an irrefutable fact that while people usually obeyed a man with a badge, they  _always_ obeyed a man with a gun. Hank wasn't the type to abuse his authority - he'd applied to the police academy in part to stop people like that - but desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, he was metaphorically turning in his badge after today. Although that fact rang a shade melancholy, he had absolutely no reservations about giving it all up. Connor was worth it. There was nothing left for him in Detroit.

The shitty club music greeted Hank at the door once again, but if all this went off without a hitch, it would be the last time he'd have to tolerate it. Hank strode into the club with purpose, positive he could find his way to Connor's booth blindfolded by now. It was usually at times like these that the unexpected happened, and it happened now as Hank approached Connor's booth.

Connor wasn't inside.

Hank froze, his legs turning into tree stumps where he stood. Somehow in all his planning on the drive here, he hadn't accounted for Connor to be missing. His blood curdled. Either Connor was busy with a client - a deeply unpleasant prospect - or worse, he'd been discovered as a deviant. As much as Hank loathed the idea of Connor in one of these rooms with someone else, the idea that Connor might have been destroyed before he'd arrived caused the bottom of his stomach to ice over in wild terror.

Hank turned his gaze on the digital panel on Connor's booth and his shoulders slumped in relief. A round progress bar was slowly shrinking, counting down the minutes until Connor would be finished with his client. Twenty-two minutes left of a thirty minute session. Connor was safe, thank fuck for that, but Hank's relief was short-lived, turning into sick, sour rage when the implication of that timer fully registered. Connor was in one of these rooms with a stranger doing fuck-knows-what with his memory totally intact. The thought was almost too much to bear, but his objective here hadn't changed. He didn't care if he had to kick down every door in the club, he was leaving with Connor.  _Now_.

The occupant in the booth beside Connor's was oblivious to Hank's distress, busy posturing seductively and smiling at him in a ploy for his attention. Hank remembered her from the first day he'd stumbled in here drunk as shit and looking for a cheap release. He almost picked her out that day. If he hadn't turned just a little to the right and seen Connor inside his booth, none of this would have ever happened. Would Connor have deviated if they'd never met? Would he have fallen in love with someone else, would  _that_ person be here to run off with him now?

"Hey," Hank said to the android urgently, gesturing to Connor's booth, "the android who was in here, number 15, where did he go? What room?"

The android's lovely smile slipped an inch. Her eyes glided to Connor's empty booth and then away, to an occupied room in the next showroom over. Hank followed her gaze, his heart jammed firmly into his throat, blood pounding in his ears. He mumbled a thank you and made for the door, casting a look around to make sure the coast was clear before pressing his hand on the emergency open panel. The door slid open, and the scene that greeted him made his blood burn with almost animalistic fury.

A man was sitting on the bed, shirt open and tie loose around his neck, leaning back just enough for Connor to grind reverse-cowboy style into his lap. Thankfully they were both still clothed - or at least, the man's pants were still on and Connor was wearing his standard Eden Club hot pants - but Connor was moving as if they were fucking, his hips and stomach undulating in a sensual rhythm, back arched beautifully with an arm bent back to glide fingers through the man's hair. The sight of it churned Hank's stomach, but he couldn't help but breathe an internal sigh of relief that all he'd walked in on was a lap dance. If he'd been a few minutes later… Hank ended that train of thought immediately.

Connor's face turned to the door in alarm and froze for only a moment, his eyes going wide and his mouth going slack. His client was slower to react, only noticing the intruder when Connor pushed off of him and moved away, his posture betraying glimpses of panic and shame. Connor's deviancy must have expanded to include even embarrassment and modesty, Hank realized. That made Hank's heart hurt a little bit at the thought.

"Hank," Connor sputtered, his eyes darting to his client and back at Hank in quick succession, "What- what are you  _doing_ here?"

"Who the  _fuck_  are you?" The man rose from the bed, torso bent forward in a poor attempt to hide the tent in his pants. "Get the fuck out! Can't you read? This room's occupied!"

"Yeah, not anymore," Hank growled, focusing on pulling out his badge opposed to flattening the man's face with his knuckles. "Detroit Police. Get out."

"I don't care if you're a cop or what, you can't just-"

" _Out_.  _Now_. Or I'll  _throw_ you out and arrest your ass for being an entitled prick," Hank cut in curtly, striding into the room to grab the man by the collar of his shirt and shove him toward the door to get him going. The man put up little resistance once Hank actually hauled him out, grumbling halfheartedly and rushing to button up his shirt as the door closed behind him.

Once Hank was alone with Connor, the first thing that struck him was how Connor was holding himself, like someone who was halfway between fear and total humiliation. Hank felt sick for having contributed to that feeling.

"Why are you here?" Connor's voice was hushed. "Hank, you'll get us  _both_ in trouble if you-"

"We're leaving," Hank cut him off, shucking off his jacket. He knew it wouldn't be long now until one of the Eden Club's human staff came calling. He handed his jacket to Connor, knowing full well that a jacket wasn't going to do much to make Connor look any less conspicuous, but dammit it was  _something_. "Come on, put this on and  _let's go_. The less time I'm here the better."

Connor shot Hank a look of utter disbelief, cutting down to stare blankly at the offered jacket. "I don't understand."

"When androids go deviant, their tracker switches off. No one knows why, but it means if I walk outta here with you  _right now_  no one can follow." He shook his arm sharply, urging Connor to take the jacket. "I didn't have time to pick you up any clothes before I came so this'll have to do, just put it on!"

Connor's lips parted in silent astonishment. He took the jacket, slowly, but he didn't put it on. "My tracker…?"

"Is busted, has been this whole time. So let's get a move on."

"Where will we go?" Connor asked in sudden concern, now that the implications were becoming clearer to him. "Even if they can't track me, if you get found harboring an android-"

"Canada."

"Canada?" Connor repeated the word, confused.

"Yeah. No android laws, you'll be safe there. We have to drop by my place to pick up my dog and some other things - probably wanna stop off somewhere and buy you some actual clothes and something to cover up your LED, too - but we'll be Canada-bound by tonight. So put on that damn jacket and let's get moving before someone comes and I have to spout some police garbage again!"

As for an answer, Connor extended his arm, Hank's jacket hanging from his hand like a dead goose.

"We can't do this, Hank. I can't let you just uproot your life like this."

"Who gives a  _fuck_ about that!" Hank countered. "Connor, I'm tellin' you that you can be  _free_. Even- even if I'm not the one you want to be with after all this, that's fine. It's really fine. I just wanna get you outta here and somewhere safe, okay? Nothing else matters!"

Connor's expression changed on a dime, his entire demeanor suddenly blooming with passionate indignation. "Even if I'm not the one…?" he repeated numbly, his voice trailing off into a whisper. "Hank, of  _course_ I want to be with you, I want that more than anything! That isn't the issue!"

"Then what is it?" Hank asked gently, his entire chest filling up with warm relief despite Connor's turmoil.

Connor's arm went slack at his side, Hank's jacket still gripped tight in his fingers. "Cole wouldn't want this," Connor reasoned desperately. "He wouldn't want his father to give up his life and the career he worked so hard for - everything he knows and loves - for  _one android_."

"Cole would want me to be  _happy_." Hank said firmly, with a fair amount of certainty. This was something he'd only recently considered. Before Connor, he'd been so busy drowning in alcohol and self-pity he'd never given a single thought to what Cole would have wanted for him. His guilt, his pain, his loneliness, they built walls around him, barring him from even being able to examine what he was doing to himself. Cole never would have wanted that for him. It was so clear now. "You make me happy. Not my job, not this shithole city, not anything else. Just you and my damn dog, and I can have  _both_ of you somewhere else. Detroit doesn't matter. Even if-" Hank felt a catch in his throat, "-even if Cole were alive, we'd be making this trip. Cole would love Canada. And he'd love you, too." Connor hadn't blinked, hadn't looked away from Hank once, and now his eyes grew wide and shimmered, water beading at his bottom lashes. Hank felt strangely close to tears himself and opened his arms in a wordless invitation.

Connor walked straight into him, dropping Hank's jacket at their feet and wrapping his arms tightly around Hank's chest. He laid his head on Hank's shoulder, pulling a shuddering breath in through his lips, his shoulders twitching with tight, quiet sobs.

"What do androids know about crying, huh," Hank chuckled softly, wrapping Connor up in his arms. "I guess you know plenty."

Connor pressed his face into Hank's shoulder, his head rolling from side to side in a halfhearted shake. "I'm… not sure I'm worth all this." he muttered.

"You are to me." Hank affirmed. "I'm not leaving here without you, got it?"

This time, Connor weakly nodded, and when he pulled away his cheeks were messy with tears but his lips were pulled in a smile. Hank's heart stuttered at the sight. He couldn't stop himself from clearing some of the tears away with his thumb, wondering vaguely what android tears were even composed of.

"We gotta go, okay?" Hank said softly. Connor nodded, this time more decisively, his face pulling into something more composed, more resolute.

"Okay."

Hank curled his hand around the back of Connor's neck and dragged him in to touch their foreheads together. Connor's hand rose to touch Hank's chest. "Alright, listen up. This should be easy enough, but if we get stopped for any reason, either here or elsewhere, you let me do the talking. I've still got my badge, I've still got my gun, nobody should hassle us without real good reason, so don't give 'em one. If shit goes South, you stay behind me, got it? If I tell you to run, you run. It shouldn't come to that, but I need to know you'll do that for me if I ask. Will you?"

Connor's eyes turned up and he offered a concerned frown that Hank could barely make out this close up. "But what if-"

"What if  _nothing_ , Connor. I'm not the one in mortal danger here. I can deal with a little bit of trouble, but they wanna put a bullet in your head. I need you to trust me, and listen to what I tell you. Can you do that?"

Connor's lips pinched together. After a moment his eyes softened and he nodded in concession. Hank could tell he was still uneasy about it, but hell, so was he. He was so far out of his depth he barely knew what he was doing. This was something out of a movie or TV show - something with lots of drama and partial nudity, probably - not reality, though Hank supposed an android uprising was something of a movie trope in of itself. Life was batshit, but Hank didn't have time to sort out the details.

"Okay." They pulled apart. "Put that jacket on and let's get the hell outta here."

Connor did so quickly, moving to zip the jacket up before stopping and reconsidering, probably realizing that it somehow looked less suspicious leaving it open. Maybe it was the lack of pants. Hank internally cursed himself for being so ill-prepared.

"We'll get you some clothes first thing." Hank offered sympathetically, sliding a hand to the base of Connor's spine to lead him out of the room. "Listen, I'm gonna pull you out of here like you're a suspect. If anyone stops us, I'm gonna tell them you're a possible deviant and I'm bringing you in for questioning. You just keep quiet."

"Got it."

Hank led them to the door, and Connor stopped just short of the sensor, pulling Hank's jacket a little more tightly around himself. "Hank?"

"Yeah?"

"What you saw me doing with that man when you came in, I- I didn't want- I, you  _know_ that I-"

"Connor, I know." Hank interrupted softly, offering him a reassuring smile. "I know."

Connor noticeably relaxed, his own lips pulling in the barest hint of a smile. "Thank you," he said without pause, his eyes sweeping up to find Hank's. "No matter what happens, I'm glad that I met you."

Hank's mouth tugged up in a fond grin. He stole a quick kiss, one that left him wanting for a hundred more, but there was no time for that. "We're gonna be fine." He grabbed Connor's upper arm in what he hoped was a convincing enough hold. "Now pretend not to have feelings for a minute."

The door slid open and Hank pulled Connor out onto the showroom floor, glad to see only a couple of potential customers window-shopping nearby, though their attention was immediately blown in Hank and Connor's direction. Hank began marching in the general direction of the front door, hauling Connor along with him. Connor walked stiffly, his eyes convincingly blank and lifeless as Hank pulled him along through the room. Hank could feel the gazes drop from their backs the farther they got.

"Almost there," Hank muttered. Connor offered a low hum in return.

As they neared the front entrance, Hank could see a trio of people standing in a haphazard circle in the front room, speaking discreetly. Hank's stomach froze over and his feet stopped moving mid-step, unintentionally yanking Connor backwards. Connor's arm went stiff in his hand.

"What is it?" Connor whispered from the corner of his mouth. Hank's mouth was dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth.

"Fuck," Hank spat under his breath. "Oh, shit.  _Shit_."

"What?" Connor tried again, slightly more frantic.

Reed and Nines. They were chatting with a portly, balding man wearing a lanyard and a plain polo, presumably the manager, considering how often Hank had seen him over the last few weeks walking around the showrooms keeping an eye on everything.

Even from this distance, Hank could see Nines turn his eyes on them, his head following the motion a moment later. Without breaking eye contact he relayed something to Reed, and immediately Hank turned on his heel and pulled Connor along with him, starting off urgently in the other direction.

"They must have followed me," Hank grumbled, his heart hammering in his throat. "Why the  _fuck_  would they follow me? How did they know?"

"Are they colleagues of yours?" Connor asked, keeping up a hurried pace.

"Yeah, and they happen to be the deviant hunting sort, so we gotta get the hell outta dodge.  _Please_ fucking tell me you know another way out of here."

"The warehouse." Connor answered instantly, altering their route to take them through the showroom to their right. "There shouldn't be any staff there around this time." Hank released his arm when he saw no customers hanging around and the two of them broke into a jog, Connor in front.

Connor led them to a staff-only door tucked away in the back of the last showroom and pressed a hand to it. It slid open without fuss and Hank ushered them inside and down the short corridor leading them to the warehouse door. He opened it and they piled inside, spitting a curse when he found no locking mechanism for the door. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, Hank followed the yellow glow of Connor's LED down the stairs and across the room, his eyes sweeping up to find the warehouse door - their only exit - closed.

Although Hank knew it was insane, he made a mental note of the firearm still wedged under his belt.

"You know how to open this door, right?" Hank called. Connor was already rushing to a panel on the left side of the door, bare feet tapping against the cold concrete. Hank hurried after him at an angle, keeping his eye on the door and his hand hovering over his gun. He gave the room a fleeting glance in hopes of having somewhere to hide in case they needed a plan B; the warehouse was a clusterfuck of Cyberlife crates, maintenance tables, shelves and toolboxes. Rows of deactivated androids were standing in near-perfect lines against the far wall, awaiting maintenance or upgrading, Hank couldn't be sure. He felt a pang of guilt for leaving them all here knowing what he knew now, knowing that any one of them could wake up to a whole new existence just like Connor did, that maybe some of them already had but couldn't say anything for fear of being destroyed. Knowing that if they decided to stay silent, they would be forced to continue servicing their customers like the obedient sex dolls they were designed to be.

Hank looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. He couldn't afford those kinds of thoughts right now. Getting Connor out of here was the only thing that mattered.

Connor made a sound of frustration. "It requires a code," he said, ghosting his fingers over the keypad. "Give me a moment. I should be able to determine the code with a scan."

"Just make it quick," Hank urged, eyes on the door. "I doubt we have a whole lotta time."

Out of the corner of his eye Hank could see Connor staring hard at the keypad, his eyes moving in quick succession over each number more times than Hank could count. Hank's hand was getting twitchy.

"Any time now, Connor."

"I've got it," Connor answered immediately. "Well, I've narrowed it down to three combinations, that is. But I only have two attempts before an automatic lock-out occurs and a manager is called."

"Shit," Hank grated out, glancing over at the keypad as if he could somehow help Connor choose the correct code. "Alright, well, pick one. We don't have much choice."

Connor punched in a 4-digit code. The console beeped and a red light flashed three times in warning. Connor's brow drew together in concern. "Only one attempt left."

The door knob jiggled. Hank grabbed Connor by the wrist and pulled him behind a stack of steel crates, his hand instinctively pulling his gun from his belt. Connor fell into place beside him, his eyes wide and trained on the gun in Hank's hand.

His voice was hushed but clearly fraught with unease. "Hank, you  _can't_ -"

"I'm not gonna  _shoot_ anyone, Connor," Hank assured in a whisper. "Not unless they shoot first."

Both of them heard the door creak open and their conversation promptly died. Hank's senses dialed up to eleven and he raised a hand to his lips to communicate utter silence to Connor as a pair of footsteps echoed sharply in the room, moving slowly and carefully through the maze of crates, tables and junk.

"Anderson, you in here buddy?" Gavin called, an unconvincing attempt at friendliness. "Come out come out wherever you are. I just wanna talk."

Hank could tell by the slow, careful pace of his words and his quiet footfalls that Reed had a pistol pointed. Hank squeezed the grip of his gun. He wasn't convinced that Reed was insane enough to shoot a lieutenant on sight without damn good cause, but Reed was historically trigger happy and had a healthy hatred of androids. Shooting Connor would be nothing to him.

"Detective, they may not have come this way." Nines kept his voice quiet, but the warehouse's ceiling was practically an echo chamber and Hank could still make out every word. "They might have ducked into a private room to avoid detection."

"No, I'm sure I saw 'em come this way," Gavin answered in a low voice, all of his earlier buddy-buddy routine gone. Hank was grateful for the conversation if only because he could track where they were in the room. "Anderson's not an idiot. Manager said there was only one other exit beside the fire exit, and we're in it. They're here somewhere."

With Reed and Nines here, there was no way in hell they were opening the warehouse door. Hank turned to Connor and gestured over his left shoulder across the room at the stairs leading up to the door they'd entered through. He then pointed to a row of crates and shelving units that could serve as cover en-route to the door. Connor nodded, and the two of them started off in a crouch, careful where they stepped.

"Come on, Anderson," Reed continued, and by now Hank felt a little bit like an animal being hunted, "Just come on out and we'll have a big pow-wow about this whole thing. Hey, no judgment for banging an android, I just wanna get to the bottom of this whole deviant thing and you happen to have one with you, is all."

Hank and Connor reached the end of their first leg, the tall stacks of crates dwindling to nothing and leaving a gap between their current hiding spot and a shelf piled high with tools, junk and cardboard boxes packed with biocomponents and blue blood packs. Hank motioned for Connor to stay behind him as he chanced a look around the crates to check where Reed and his android partner were positioned. His stomach flopped over when he saw neither one.

"Peek-a-boo!" came Gavin's sneering voice from above them, followed by the sound of boxes being pushed across metal rungs. Connor shoved his full weight into Hank's shoulder and the two of them crashed to the floor, three boxes landing in their place and exploding their contents all over the floor. Quickly collecting his senses Hank struggled to his feet, grabbed Connor's hand and made a desperate dash for the door. He kept Connor close to his side, half shielding him with one arm. A gunshot exploded in the air, ricocheting off a steel girder propped up against the wall mere feet from them. Ears ringing, Hank turned and shoved Connor behind him, pointing his gun at Reed who already had his own gun pointed knowingly at Hank. The door was behind them, frustratingly close, only a handful of steps away.

"You coulda killed us!" Hank shouted, furious. "What the  _hell_ , Reed?"

"Drop the gun, lieutenant," Gavin warned. Nines stood just behind Gavin, watching the standoff with an expression that could only be described as conflicted.

Hank's arm didn't waver. " _You_  fucking drop it," he growled. "Why the hell are you even pointing a gun at me in the first place? Am I a fucking suspect now?"

"Yeah, actually you are. Harboring deviant androids is a crime now, or haven't you been paying attention?" Gavin answered, flashing his teeth in an amused smile. His eyes flicked to Connor and his smile only grew. "Hey look Nines, I found your twin! Didn't know Cyberlife reused a sexbot model for police work. Seems like a weird choice."

"We're walking out of here, Reed," Hank kept his voice even and calm and he  _hoped_ commanding enough to end this conflict before it could escalate. "This isn't your business, okay? Just let us leave, and no one has to know this ever happened."

"Oh," Gavin's expression darkened with devious glee, "I  _want_ everyone to know. 'Lieutenant Anderson of the DPD fell in love with a sexbot!' And you're trying to  _elope_ with it, to boot! You'll be the talk of the town, Hank. I couldn't forgive myself if I kept a juicy story like that all to myself."

"You sadistic piece of  _shit_ ," Hank spat.

"Put down your  _fucking gun_ ," Gavin ordered again, and this time he punctuated the last two words with a jab of his gun in Hank's direction. It was clear his patience was waning. "Otherwise, I might just start seeing which pieces of your android slut I can get a clear shot at. Some of you might get blown off in the process, though, no guarantees."

This wasn't the first time he and Gavin had their guns pointed at each other, but it was the first time Hank felt one of them might actually pull the trigger. Before he could even think of a comeback, Connor shot out from behind the relative safety of Hank's back, arms raised in surrender. Hank made a grab for him but Connor moved just out of his reach.

"That isn't necessary," Connor said calmly and clearly. "Please, leave Hank out of this."

"Connor!  _Get back here_ -"

"No," Connor answered firmly, tilting his head just enough to peer at Hank out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not going to be responsible for putting you in danger."

Gavin grinned, eyes settled on Hank to await his own inevitable surrender. Hank wasn't left much choice, of course, not with Gavin's gun trained on Connor, so Hank raised his hands and leaned down to carefully lay his gun on the floor. Gavin's arm went slack and he doubled over in laughter. "Jesus  _christ_ , you didn't just fall in love with an android, the android fell in love with  _you_!" Gavin hooted, a hand clutching his stomach. "Unbelievable!"

"How'd you even know I was here?" Hank asked, hoping at least to stall for time, wait for an opportunity to grab Connor and make for the door.

Nines stepped beside Reed, adjusting his tie. "Upon seeing Detective Reed's suspicion over your interest in the deviant case, I decided to scan your heart rate for the remainder of our conversation. It became clear to me rather quickly that you were lying."

"Then we went to ask Fowler about it, and guess what? He didn't remember asking you to help out on the deviant case. Seemed downright confused, actually, as to why you'd give a damn. So I tracked your cell, and where did I find you?  _An android brothel_. You don't have to be a detective to put that shit together, Anderson." He gestured for Connor to come closer. "Now be a good little sexbot and come over here before I put a bullet between your eyes."

"He hasn't hurt anyone!" Hank shouted, his every nerve ignited with protective fury. Reed's face pulled into a mocking grimace.

"Who gives a shit? He's a  _deviant_ , Anderson. It's my job to take him in. That's your job too, by the fucking way. You hiding any  _other_ deviants I should know about?"

"I'm not letting you take him." Hank growled.

Gavin flashed a wild grin. "Yeah, you are. And I'm taking you in for harboring a deviant, while I'm at it." He took three blinding steps forward, stopped in front of Connor and pressed the barrel of his gun against Connor's forehead. Connor didn't so much as twitch. Gavin turned his eyes on Hank, lips curling into a satisfied sneer. "Turn around and put your hands behind your head,  _lieutenant_."

"Don't you  _dare_ touch a fucking hair on his head you sick son of a-"

"What did I just say?" Reed challenged sharply.

Hank's teeth ground against each other hard enough to crack. His brain churned with a medley of curse words, panic-inducing flashes of Connor getting shot in the head and far-fetched escape plans. His own helplessness was crushing him. The only thing Hank could do now was comply to Reed's demands and hope to  _christ_ he wouldn't shoot Connor on the spot just for the fun of it.

And then something insane happened.

Connor dropped to the ground in a crouch and shot his leg out, sending Gavin crashing down on his ass with a surprised curse. His gun fell only inches from his hand and Connor pounced on him, trying to pin down his arm in an attempt to either prevent Reed from reclaiming it or grab it himself, Hank couldn't be sure. Gavin struggled against him, grunting in effort.

"Nines-  _fuck_ \- get this thing offa me!"

Nines stood stock-still behind them, his LED whirring yellow, his expression set in clear conflict. Hank stole that moment to dive for his own gun, but as soon as he'd grabbed it Nines was sprinting at him. Nines shoved him into a maintenance table, the force of it skidding the table back at least a foot. The side of the table cut against Hank's lower back and something razor sharp and cold pierced Hank's side through his shirt. He could barely feel it through the surge of adrenaline pumping in his veins. He hissed through his teeth and used his free arm to try and wrench Nines off of him but Nines pushed back with even more force, a hand circled around Hank's wrist squeezing so hard Hank's fingers were beginning to uncurl involuntarily.

Hank tried kneeing him but got the same result; Nines was fucking strong. Whatever had punctured Hank's side sank in deeper, sending a jolt of red-hot pain shooting through Hank's side and spreading down his thigh. Nines reared his arm back aiming for a punch but Hank blocked him, his forearm taking the blow.

"Why are you  _doing_ this?" Hank grated out, his every muscle straining to keep the android from throwing him over the table or shattering his wrist or both. "Connor is one of you! Why are you hunting your  _own damn kind_?" Nines didn't answer, but his LED was running red with spurts of yellow and his grip on Hank's wrist loosened just enough for Hank to regain his grip on his gun.

Reed's voice rang out, echoing through the warehouse. "Jesus fuck, you-  _ahg_ \- shit!" Hank's desperation grew tenfold. He couldn't see what was going on past Nines's shoulder, but he could hear the struggle and he could imagine what Reed would do to Connor if he got the upper hand.

A gunshot rang out and the sounds of struggle promptly died. Hank's heart shot into his throat.

Nines's eyes got round and his grip slackened, giving Hank an opportunity to shove him off and into a pile of boxes. The sharp object sank deeper into his side from the momentum. This time he felt the gush of blood that resulted, but right now his mind almost felt like it was operating separately from his body. His eyes searched frantically for Connor, finding both he and Gavin on the floor several feet from where they'd been. The gun was in Gavin's limp hand, and neither he or Connor were moving.

"Connor!" Hank grit his teeth and yanked the object free of his side - an x-acto knife with a bloodied blade, from what he could tell before he tossed it to the floor - and staggered forward, ignoring the searing pain in his side that seemed to intensify with each step he took. " _Connor_!"

He saw Connor slowly pull himself up on hands and knees, shooting a glance at Reed's motionless form on the floor beside him. He inspected him closely and then let out a small, breathy sigh. "He's fine," Connor said, sitting on his legs. "He's just unconscious."

Hank cursed and braced his hands on his knees to get his breath back, the relief coursing through him like a warm drink of whiskey on a cold day. "I don't give a shit about  _him_ ," Hank exclaimed, knowing full well that wasn't entirely true but it was true enough in the moment, "are you okay? Are you hurt?"

"I'm alright." Connor answered, rising to his feet and dusting himself off before kicking the handgun in Gavin's hand away, sending it spinning into a dark corner of the room. His gaze rose from the floor and stopped on Hank's side, eyes growing wide when he saw the unsightly blotch of crimson on Hank's shirt that was growing by the second, beginning to seep into his pants leg. Hank knew damn well that androids didn't have blood running under their skin but somehow Connor looked absolutely ashen-faced, his expression warping in concern. "Hank-! You're injured!" Connor rushed to him, holding his hands out awkwardly, clearly unsure of what to do or how to help. "We have to stop the bleeding!"

Hank instinctively clamped a hand over his wound as if covering it would make it disappear. "I'll live, it's not that deep. We have to worry about getting out of here first, okay?" Hank grabbed up one of Connor's hands and started off toward the door again, every step radiating pain.

They had just reached the stairs when Hank realized, rather unpleasantly, that he no longer had his gun.

"Stop where you are, and turn around slowly." Nines's command was punctuated with the sound of Hank's gun being cocked. Hank tossed an incredulous look above them, wondering with authentic curiosity if there was  _anything_ up there worth praying to. He turned around holding Connor behind him. Connor squeezed his arm, pressing protectively into Hank's uninjured side.

In the darkness, Nines's icy blue eyes shone almost as brightly as his LED. Hank's gun was pointed at them from a steady arm but his LED was still running almost solid yellow.

"You know you don't wanna do this," Hank reasoned, recognizing that telling color spinning on his temple, that waver in resolve. "I don't know what the hell is going on, but androids are changing. Maybe you are too. Let us leave, Nines. Connor ain't hurting anyone, and neither am I. Just let us leave."

Nines said nothing. He didn't lower his aim. Somewhere below them, a pained groan pierced the quiet.

"Fuck," Gavin sat up, a hand cradling the back of his head. He squinted at the scene in front of him and staggered to his feet. "What are you waiting for?" he called furiously at Nines. " _Get_  those assholes already!"

A ringing silence followed Gavin's words. Nines flicked his gaze to Connor, his expression twitching in something like sympathy. Connor chose then to appeal to him in his own way, with only one word: " _Please_."

That was all it took. Nines let out an uneven sigh and his arm fell to his side.

Gavin's face warped in disbelief. "Nines, what the  _fuck_ -"

"Go, before I change my mind." Nines said. He emptied the gun of its bullets and tossed it aside.

The expression on Gavin's face might have been one for the record books. If the situation were any less dire Hank might have pulled out his phone and immortalized it in a picture.

Gavin charged forward, grabbing Nines by the sleeve of his jacket. "What the  _fuck_  do you think you're doing?"

Nines leveled his human partner a penetrating stare. "The right thing." he answered coolly. "Don't pretend you don't understand what this is, or that you don't care." He tilted his head just barely. "Or did the other night really mean nothing to you?"

As though Nines's words held some kind of otherworldly power over him, Gavin released his sleeve and took a calculated step back, his earlier outrage peeled back like he'd just stepped out of a costume. Gavin glowered at the floor thoughtfully while Hank tried very, very hard not to imagine what might have gone on between them the other night. Or  _any_  night.

Without a word, Nines went to the keypad that operated the hanger door and placed his hand on the digital screen. Instantly the keypad bleeped and a green light flashed, the door pulling away from the ground and groaning upward, moonlight spilling into the hanger. He turned back around, sweeping a hand casually toward freedom. "It might be better to leave through the back, unless you were hoping to track blood all over the showroom."

Although Hank was still slightly skeptical, he wasn't about to test Nines's patience, or his newfound compassion. Hank moved his hand to the low of Connor's back to start them toward the door but Connor stopped him. He grabbed Hank's arm and slung it over his shoulders, sliding his arm behind Hank's back to help support him. Hank almost stopped him until he realized how much pain he was in now that the whirlwind of panic and stress was nearly done.

Together, they walked to the door in silence. As they passed by Reed he pointedly coughed into his hand, avoiding everyone's eyes. "We'll cover for you tonight, but  _only_  tonight, got it? After that, you're on your own."

In all the time they'd know each other, Hank was positive that was the most human thing Gavin had ever said to him. Hank refrained from pointing out how nice a gesture that actually was, settling instead on something simple and to the point. "Yeah well, thanks."

"Don't waste this, Anderson." Reed said stiffly. "I better not see you around Detroit after this."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Hank answered with a slanted smile. Connor traded a look with Nines as they hobbled by, and Hank was sure he saw another flicker of yellow in that pure blue once again. Hank couldn't be sure - he was still new to all this android business - but it almost seemed like something passed between them, either an implied understanding or some sort of camaraderie. Maybe both. Or maybe Hank was just losing a fair amount of blood on top of coming down from his adrenaline high.

Connor dropped his gaze, that was that, and they moved on into the chilly night air.

.

.

.

 

" _Shit_ ," Hank hissed through gritted teeth.

"Sorry," Connor replied, but it sounded like he wasn't sorry at all. He was focused on his task, using only the dim dome light of Hank's car to apply a butterfly stitch over the clean, properly sterilized wound in Hank's side. A huge, fluffy Saint Bernard pushed its face between the front seats, whining softly, tail sweeping from side to side. Hank reached back to scratch behind the dog's ear.

"S'okay, Sumo. I'm fine. Connor's takin' good care of me."

Connor was busy pulling a large bandage free of its plastic wrapper. "I wouldn't  _have_ to be taking such good care of you if you'd been more careful," he pointed out, eyebrows raised high on his forehead. Hank couldn't help but grin.

"You wanna talk about careful?" he said while Connor smoothed the bandage over the stitches. "You attacked a man holding a gun to your head. You realize how insane that is, right? You almost gave me a damn heart attack. What'd I say about not doing anything stupid? Or  _listening_ to me?"

Connor turned back to the small pharmacy Hank had purchased at a nearby convenience store once they'd gotten the hell away from the Eden Club and after making a stop at Hank's house for some essentials. Hank hadn't taken much in the end. Some clothes for both Connor and himself, daily hygiene products, a couple of books, Sumo's food and collar and leash and Hank's favorite photo of Cole; that was it. He thought it would be harder to close that door for the last time, but it wasn't hard at all. It felt cleansing. Like all the stink polluting his life these last few years was being locked away inside.

"I didn't see any other way," Connor answered softly, stuffing the plastic wrappers, ointment and rubbing alcohol back into the plastic bag from whence they came. "I'm sorry if I worried you."

Hank's brow pinched in a frown. He pulled his shirt back down, reaching out to touch Connor's shoulder. "Hey. What's wrong?"

Connor paused for a moment, his hands gripping the bag tightly in his fingers.

"You got hurt," he said finally.

"Well… Yeah, I did. It happens in my line of work. One more scar for the collection."

"But you got hurt because of  _me_." Connor persisted, turning to face Hank. Perhaps seeing an opportunity, Sumo eagerly pushed his head up to meet Connor's, his tongue lapping excitedly at Connor's face. Despite his obvious distress, Connor's lips quirked up in the faintest hint of a smile and he held Sumo's big head in his hands, scratching through his thick fur.

"Sumo seems to have taken a shinin' to you," Hank pointed out with a grin.

"Don't change the subject," Connor shot back, but with Sumo still trying desperately to lick his face he couldn't seem to stifle his smile.

"I'm not." Hank said. He ruffled the top of Sumo's head. "Look, you didn't do anything to hurt me, okay? That's on Detective dick-head Reed. Considering what he put us through, I'm lucky I got away with only a scratch."

Connor leveled him a disbelieving look. "You were  _stabbed_ , Hank."

"By a  _table_. And I'm prepared for a lot worse than that if it means keepin' you safe." Hank countered firmly. Connor stared at Hank in silence, considering. His gaze flicked away and he worried his bottom lip with his teeth. A very human impulse, Hank thought.

"I don't want you to get hurt." Connor said softly. Sumo's head was practically resting on his shoulder now, a trickle of drool bleeding through the oversized t-shirt Connor was wearing. "The thought of losing you is almost too much for me to consider. You're all I have in the  _world_ , Hank. I know that isn't fair to you, it isn't what you asked for, but it's true. You're all I have."

Hank wasn't exceptionally good with words, never had been, which was why he was so good at his job. Talking was for the lawyers after he'd finished his leg of the case, which suited him just fine. With Connor, words came more easily somehow. Being with Connor made him realize how guarded he'd always been, how hard he'd worked to create walls around himself. Cole broke those walls down the moment he'd opened his eyes for the first time and looked up at Hank with those big, wondrous baby blues, but when he died Hank rebuilt those walls and fortified them. Hank thought of the hastily packed photo of Cole in his bag. The words still weren't there, not quite yet, but actions spoke louder than words anyway.

"C'mere," Hank held out an arm and moved his seat back by a few inches. Connor glanced up in surprise, staring at the offered arm. He looked almost like he could cry, and without any further prompting he crawled over the armrest console and into Hank's lap - mindful of Hank's injured side - and flung his arms around Hank's neck. Hank pulled him in, arms twined tightly around him, stuffing his face into the bend of Connor's neck.

They stayed like that for so long Hank thought he could fall asleep like this, with Connor in his lap and wrapped up in his arms, but those elusive words finally came and they had quite a road trip ahead of them tonight.

"Hey," Hank murmured against Connor's skin, "you're all I have too, okay? Maybe… maybe that isn't something to be afraid of. Maybe it makes us stronger."

Connor released Hank's neck and pulled away, his eyes shiny and his cheeks messy with tears despite the warm, rosy smile shaping his lips.

"You have Sumo," he pointed out with just a hint of mirth. Sumo gently whined from the backseat.

" _You've_  got Sumo too, you know. Looks like he's got two dads now."

Connor leaned in to press a long kiss to Hank's lips, a hand cradling Hank's jaw. "I have no idea how to be a dad, but I'll do my absolute best," he chuckled when he pulled away, and Hank realized how good it was to see Connor smile like that, like someone who finally had an ounce of control over their own life and their own destiny. It was stunning to witness.

Hank's hands slid to Connor's slender waist. "You're goddamned incredible, you know that?" Hank almost whispered. Connor traced Hank's bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes soft.

"When you say it, I sincerely feel like I can believe it."

Hank pulled Connor in for another kiss, just one more, before Connor climbed off of him and fell back into the passenger seat. The bag of first-aid items were pushed under the glove box so that Connor could reclaim his lost leg room and Hank readjusted his seat, fishing his keys out of his pocket. He craned his neck to peek at Sumo in the backseat; the big guy was laying with his head between his paws, already half-asleep.

"Hey Sumo, how do ya feel about Canada?"

Sumo boofed sleepily in reply, his tail thumping a sluggish rhythm against the seat. Hank chuckled.

"Yeah, me too."

"So," Connor started with a soft smile, his head falling against his headrest, "what will we do when we get to Canada?"

Hank stuck his keys in the ignition and started the car, tapped the GPS route on his phone and pulled the car out of the empty lot.

"Whatever the fuck we want," Hank suggested, but he meant it as a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> For the 2018 Hankcon Big Bang!! 
> 
> My artist for the big bang is [lemon-wedges](http://lemon-wedges.tumblr.com/), who produced this _absolutely lovely_ art based on the final scene of my fic! [Check it out HERE!!!](http://lemon-wedges.tumblr.com/post/182444831548/i-got-paired-with-ostrich-cakes-for-the-hankcon)
> 
> Please leave a review/comment if you enjoyed, I would really appreciate it!! <3 <3


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